


In Twilight

by inksheddings



Category: due South
Genre: Cussing, Gen, Implied Relationships, Light Angst, M/M, New Year's Day, Post-Call of the Wild, implied fraser/kowalski - Freeform, single instance of mixing prescription drugs and alcohol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 10:11:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9176401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inksheddings/pseuds/inksheddings
Summary: When all is said and done, Ray sits on the couch, wearing nothing but his boxers, drinking his coffee. He's fine. Honest. He's good. He's gold.His phone rings.He should let it go to voicemail.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I miss Due South so much. I miss Ray Kowalski most of all.
> 
>  
> 
> The title was inspired by lyrics to ELO's "Telephone Line."

Ray sleeps through New Year's Eve with the help of an expired pain pill and a shot of whiskey. Not the smartest thing he's ever done but it had felt like a major necessity at the time and it was definitely preferable than the alternative. Staying awake and listening to people hoot and holler out on the streets, celebrating and kissing and out with the oldish and in with the newish . . . nah, just wasn't Ray's thing. 

And, okay, he feels like crap this morning (happy fucking New Year) but that's nothing entirely new, and nothing that a few cups of coffee wouldn't take care of. He doesn't have to work neither, so he could stay in bed or whatever. He certainly doesn't have to check his messages or anything.

But Ray can't get his ass out of bed. He's starting to need to piss in the worst way but he can't make himself move. It's warm under the blankets. And, yeah, the mattress isn't exactly top dollar, but it's soft enough. It doesn't feel anything like a sleeping bag on frozen ground and when he does finally get up to piss he won't have to worry about freezing his dick off accidentally. It's heavenly. It's perfect. What else could he possibly want? Definitely not make sure his phone didn't die overnight.

Ray wishes he could do something else with his dick other than go to the head. A nice long jerk-off session doesn't sound half-bad. He hasn't done that in way too long, and, hell, he could stay in bed all day and get off as much as he wants. But first he's gotta get out of bed and take care of the less fun bodily function his bladder is bitching about. And Ray thinks he left his phone in the bathroom. 

Well, the reality of the situation here is that Ray can't stay in bed all day, not really. He has to piss, he has to get some coffee and maybe something to eat, and--

That's pretty much it. He doesn't have anything else he needs to do and that's a rare and precious thing. He doesn't have to take a shower if he don't want to, he doesn't have to go shopping, there's enough food in the fridge, and he sure as hell ain't gotta start a fire to cook anything, he's got a perfectly reasonable stove in the kitchen that lights up with a turn of a dial and the push of a button. Kinda-sorta like a phone. 

But, okay, this is getting ridiculous. At this point if Ray doesn't get to the bathroom he's gonna drown in his bed, so he throws off the blankets and manages to get both feet on the ground and any second now he's going to stand up and walk into the bathroom to take care of business. Then he can get back into bed and take care of other business. Yeah. Any second now. It's not like his phone'll start ringing while he's otherwise occupied and unable to answer. Not that he wants to answer. 

Jesus, what the hell's wrong with him. Nothing, that's what.

Ray manages to push himself up and his head spins a bit and his stomach ain't too happy with being vertical, but he takes a few steps toward the bathroom without falling over. He veers off at the last minute toward the kitchen instead and starts up some coffee. But as soon as it starts drip, drip, dripping into the pot his bladder can't take it anymore. Ray eyes the kitchen sink. 

No. Fuck no. 

Ray storms into the bathroom and slams up the lid because he puts it down now when he's done, he can't leave it up like he used to after Stella, because it's not polite and it's not fucking _proper_ , even though there hadn't even been any stupid toilet lids, let alone any _toilets_ in the land where dog sleds roam. Ray doesn't look at his phone, sitting on the counter all innocent-like. He just takes a leak, and while he won't piss in his kitchen sink he can wash his hands in it just fine.

When all is said and done, Ray sits on the couch, wearing nothing but his boxers, drinking his coffee. He's fine. Honest. He's good. He's gold. 

His phone rings. 

He should let it go to voicemail. 

And why did he choose that fucking annoying ring tone? He really should change it. And it's probably just Welsh trying to get him to come in today. 

It's fucking loud, too. He wonders if he slept through it last night or if no one actually called him (until now). It's probably just Frannie, inviting him for a "family" dinner. But he doesn't need that noise. 

He's warm without thermals, he's got good coffee he didn't cook in a sauce pan, he took a piss in a toilet, he's fine. Really. Truly.

His phone's set up to go to voicemail after eight rings. He didn't set it up that way, that's just how it was already when he got it. 

Four. 

Five.

Six. 

Ray runs.

 

**end**


End file.
